


Sweater Weather

by sweeterthankarma



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Background Waverly Earp/Nicole Haught - Freeform, Bisexual Wynonna Earp, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Gay Pride, Implied Sexual Content, LGBTQ Themes, just the tiniest bit of angst, thirsty!Wynonna
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:15:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27167773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweeterthankarma/pseuds/sweeterthankarma
Summary: Anonymous requested, “Wynonna and the gang have hit a dry spot hunting revenants and other demons and she needs to find some way to entertain herself at work. She begins to notice Dolls has quite the sweater collection and has a hard time deciding what color he looks best in.”
Relationships: Xavier Dolls/Wynonna Earp
Comments: 28
Kudos: 17





	Sweater Weather

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the bisexual anthem "Sweater Weather" by The Neighbourhood, because of course.

Red. 

Wynonna stares more than she should.

Nedley’s saying something to them, to her and Dolls and Nicole and Waverly, detailing the impending blizzard and what time they should leave the station by in order to not get stranded overnight with nothing to eat but vending machine crackers and bland coffee, but Wynonna doesn’t even bother to listen. She knows Dolls will relay the information later, make sure she gets everything done in time that she needs to. There’s been so much paperwork lately; copious, overflowing loads, and if she had known coming back to fight her family’s heirloom curse would result in so many files and forms, maybe she would have said “fuck it.”

But no. Now she’s looking at Dolls, wrapped up in a currant colored sweater that hugs him just right, and she knows she made the right choice by returning. Now, she’s thinking “fuck _him,”_ instead. 

He hugged her earlier— or rather let her lean against him as she whined about _more_ paperwork— and she so desperately wants to feel the softness again, of both the sweater and his skin against hers.

She has bad thoughts, thoughts she knows he’ll reject. Thoughts like, “I’d really, very much like to ride you while you keep that sweater on, or maybe keep it half on, sort of like a sexy crop top.” She can already hear him laughing. 

That doesn’t stop her from pitching it nonetheless, and though she earns the expected, denying chuckle from him, she still gets what she wants in the end. Sure, he’s fully naked during it— and honestly, that’s ideal— but she snags the sweater later, tugs it on herself while he showers, and that’s pretty nice, too. Hey, you win some, you lose some, right?

* * *

Orange. 

Wynonna doesn’t really like orange. She doesn’t know many people who do. Yet something about Dolls in orange has her energized, woken up like she’s drank an entire carton of juice tinted the same color. Orange juice may not have caffeine, but it has calories and nutrients and usually too much pulp, so Wynonna thinks she can make the comparison.

Dolls is bright, keeping her attention even more so than usual as they stake out a revenant, waiting inside his SUV since it’s bitterly cold outside. Inside, it’s warm though, filled with manufactured heat that warms Wynonna to her bones and allows her to ignore the ice marking the windows, ruining her visibility. Dolls keeps her warm too, a hand on hers, large and encompassing as his thumb tucks around her pinkie.  
He doesn’t usually do this, touch her on missions or at work. Though Wynonna knows they’ve got secrecy here, so much free range to fuck off and drive around town and do god knows what, Dolls wouldn’t dare and she doesn’t even propose it. She wants this curse to be over just as much as he wants his superiors to leave him alone. 

So instead, she takes this, considers the simplicity of the moment to be enough: the smell of his black coffee and her vanilla latte, the heated seat nearly burning through her parka and into her skin, keeping her awake and alert and at ease.

Oh, and Dolls’s orange sweater. That beautiful, glorious knitted orange sweater that looks like the color of a summer sunset, blurring in the corner of her vision when she inevitably gets out of the car to shoot down another oblivious, dumbstruck revenant. She’s been on a roll with them lately, and she considers herself to be on another kind of roll when Dolls lets her straddle him in the backseat and ball her hands up in the yarn of his top, just for a few minutes until Nicole calls from the station and asks them if they want lunch. Wynonna wipes at a hickey slowly bruising onto the skin of her throat, then shrugs her own coat back on. Big victories, little victories.

* * *

Yellow. 

Wynonna thinks she’s been drooling a little bit.

For starters, she’s exhausted. Sleep didn’t come easy last night, and not even for a good reason. Dolls is sick, snuffling around the office with tissues bunched up in his hands and a cough drop perpetually lodged in his mouth, and it’s a sad thing to watch. She’s not feeling great herself either, knowing that whatever flu has struck her boyfriend, sister, _and_ her sister’s girlfriend down is coming her way, full speed ahead. Wynonna can already feel the hint of a sore throat, just itching at the back of her mouth, right where her tongue ends. She’s swallowing too much, drinking gallons of water hourly to fend it off, and that sounds like a good idea except every five minutes she has to get up and pee because of it. And Wynonna doesn’t want to leave Dolls alone, not because she’s worried about him or anything— well, she _is,_ of course, but also he’s got superhuman DNA, she knows he’ll be fine— but he looks so good, even while he’s sick. It’s almost criminal.

Wynonna feels guilty, looking at him like this. It’s a juxtaposition, the strength of his arms in a turtlenecked cardigan that’s just the right blend between gold and lemon, and the way his eyes are drained, tired, only filled with intrigue when she walks over to him and offers her last bottle of water.

“Want me to get more?” she asks, and Dolls nods before bursting into a fit of raucous sneezes. It’s so hard to turn away, so hard to transform her blend of admirable and sympathy into motion towards the vending machine, and Wynonna just knows she’ll end up in hell one day because his nose is running, eyes watering, and yet it’s impossible to stop staring at his Adam’s apple, protruding just enough for Wynonna to see, the darkness of his skin a glorious contrast to the butterscotch of his sweater. 

Yup, she’s so going to hell. 

* * *

Green.

Dolls carries a pine tree back to the homestead just in time for Christmas, and Wynonna isn’t sure what she’s more surprised by: that action, or the fact that his pullover is the exact same shade as the needles that litter to the porch floor, slipping between the cracks.

“You’re adorable,” Wynonna tells him, opening the front door wide and beckoning him in, sap— and the fact that they already have a tree set up— be damned. “We don’t need this, but you’re adorable so it’s coming in.”

The tree, just a little too tall, dents the ceiling with a tiny hole and drenches the carpet with sap. Wynonna couldn’t care less.

“Look how he matches!” Wynonna shows Waverly when she comes into the living room with wide eyes and Nicole’s hand loosely in her own, and honestly, if you’d told Wynonna a year ago that _she’d_ be the one drawing comparisons here and nearly squealing like a child unboxing their holiday presents, she’d laugh in your face.

But it’s hard to be cynical when it’s all so serendipitous, and besides, Dolls tastes like hot chocolate and marshmallows when she goes to kiss him again. There's no bitterness here, not in the slightest.

* * *

Blue. 

Dolls hunches along the side of Waverly’s truck, peering down at the punctured, slowly deflating front tire. He’s stood at a rather awkward angle thanks to the black ice slathered and stuck to the asphalt below, but he’s attentive and aware as he peers down at the situation at hand and relays information back to Nicole. She’s not a huge car person, something Wynonna teases her about with a nudging, “come on, aren’t you a lesbian?” but she’s helping out nonetheless.

Wynonna should be helping too. But she’s admittedly a bit too busy looking at Dolls, admiring the dark cyan of his sweater, woolly and peeking out from underneath his oversized jacket. 

“I think I have something for that,” Dolls says before scooching around the snowbank and heading towards his own car, opening the back hatch with a simple press of a button on his key. 

“Come on, Wynonna!” he calls, and she follows despite not having a clue what he expects her to do to help out. She thinks she’d do anything he asked if he looked like that— and the fact that he gives her a scarf that’s almost an exact match when he sees her shivering is pretty nice, too. 

* * *

Indigo.

Wynonna didn’t even think indigo was a real color.

“That’s what it says on the tag,” Dolls says as he shrugs it on over two white long sleeve tee shirts and a Kevlar vest. Wynonna adores him in white— and he likes it on her too, especially when it’s that strappy lingerie set that’s floral yet almost see-through— and she adores him in whatever the fuck this indigo is. She can’t focus on it right now. She can’t focus on anything but the beating of her heart, fast and hard in her chest, and she feels it remedy at least a little bit when she clutches Dolls, holds him close and feels the shaking of his own hands. 

It’s not that she wants him to be afraid, but thank god she isn’t alone in this. At least he feels it too. 

“I’ll come home,” he says, and it sounds like a promise. “And then we’ll argue more about what color this sweater is.”

“Okay,” is all Wynonna can say back, believing him.

* * *

Violet.

Dolls wears violet when he comes back. Wynonna swears he does it on purpose. 

“Indigo?” she asks, eyebrows raised in curious question when he tugs it off and rolls onto her bed— _their_ bed— in a swift motion. A groan of relief and relaxation leaves his mouth, transforming into one of humor when Wynonna twists to face him, repeating the question.

“Violet,” he corrects her, and she scoffs. 

“So, purple.”

He gives her a soft tilt of his head, eyes flickering shut. “Same thing, really.”

“Violet sounds posh,” Wynonna comments as she dumps her own slipover into the laundry bin and kicks it to the wall with an unceremonious thud that makes Dolls open one eye and give her a mildly disquieted look. “And you do always like to be posh.”

“What, are you British now?” he asks, and it’s his turn to quirk his brows as she lays down beside him and uses his chest as a pillow. His skin is still warm from the sweater. “Besides, I don’t always like to be posh. Like, right now, for example.”

Wynonna lifts her head and frowns at him. “Are you saying _I’m_ not posh?” 

“Do you really expect me to say that you are?” he laughs.

“You’re lucky I love you,” she huffs, and he’s lucky again when Wynonna goes to reach for a pillow to hit him with and comes up with empty fists.

* * *

Rainbow.

Waverly organizes the “Pride in February '' march down Main Street, decking out the station, the homestead, and Nicole _and_ Dolls’s apartment just because it’s something to do. They’ve been in a dry spell lately when it comes to revenants, so much so that even Wynonna has helped out in designing posters and stickers. Her assistance doesn’t go far past “hey, change that color, that purple is cooler,” but it’s better than nothing.

A good amount of people show up, congregating at the post office because it’s got the most open floor plan. Wynonna sticks a rainbow pin on her jacket and a blue, purple, and pink flag in her jeans pocket, calling it a day while giving Nicole a thumbs up from across the room. She’s donned in pinks and oranges, talking to Nedley who’s holding a box of donuts and seemingly trying to escape to his office with them against her protests. More people file in through the door, younger teens in glitter and messy eyeshadow, and something in it makes Wynonna’s chest tighten. She turns her thumbs up to a thumbs down and marches over to Nedley, leaving him with a donut in each hand as she offers the box to the newcomers herself.

“Thanks, sis!” Waverly calls from somewhere in the background, clearly having observed her rare moment of selflessness, and Wynonna smiles at a boy with kind eyes and the same flag painted on their shirt as the one Wynonna has propped by her waistline.

It’s a real smile, a genuine one of solidarity and allyship, but it’s nothing compared to the one that breaks out on Wynonna’s face when she hears Dolls whisper something hushed and probably inappropriate in her ear and she turns to see him in a rainbow embroidered sweater.

It has a silvery white basis, the yarn tinted with glitter as the strands blend into multicolored hues. It’s still his style despite very much not being his style, and Wynonna pulls out her phone to immediately capture the moment. Her heart flips a little at the way Dolls doesn’t protest, just lets a smile edge out onto his lips and stay there.

“Do you have something you need to tell me, Xavier?” she teases once she’s out of earshot of the crowd, tugging on the hem of his shirt. He rolls his eyes at her, giving her a pointed look.

“Wyn, come on, you’re at your sister’s pride event,” he chides, his tone is filled with affection.

“What?” Wynonna says innocently. “I can make that joke.” She fumbles around in her pockets, searching for the bi pride flag, and letting out a triumphant _“a-ha!”_ when she finally holds it up. “See?”

“It’s ripped,” Dolls points out, but he still grins at her.

**Author's Note:**

> This was so self-indulgent. You're welcome.
> 
> Come say hi at my Tumblr blog [here](https://sweeterthankarma.tumblr.com/) or at my new Twitter account [here!](https://twitter.com/sweeterthnkarma)


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